travelling with Out of True as it was intended

Oh, I know. Guy Clark does. He says this in one of my favourite of his songs:

‘Here’s a book of poems I got From a girl I used to know I guess I read it front to back Fifty times or so It’s all about the good life And stayin’ at ease with the world It’s funny how I love that book And I never loved that girl‘

Then I went to London, where I met @elaine4queen and this is a photo of her upon first seeing my copy of Out of True. As good as it is, it’s even better with a cuppa.

Then there was sleeping and such…upon awakening, it turned out Poppet ‘ad been readin’ a bit of poetry on her own while I wasn’t looking. How twee is that, innit?

Here’s where our Elaine finally takes a gander at the ol’ book itself. She’s awestruck. ‘That’s some top shelf poetry there, I tell you what!’ I hear her exclaim.

Then later I was in another café in London and I met this lovely couple from Edinburgh. Although I had my copy of Out of True with me, we didn’t talk about it. There’s no real reason for me to include this photo…I just liked them.

Here’s a photo of the book and my copy of Myrtle Takes Tea in the same café that I was with the Scottish couple.

And finally, a photo of the book on a pile of money with a baritone ukulele. Because it’s my damned blog and I can do whatever I want here.

Before I forget: the poet is Amy Durant. She’s a friend. A good poet, but an exceptional friend. You can read her daily musings at Lucy’s Football (lucysfootball.com), and although her posts are long and rambling and often have only a very thin connection to reality, she’s that sort of writer you should keep an eye on.

I can’t believe BOTH of you kept this secret. You are TRICKY. And also Elaine! And Poppet! ALL of you kept this secret! (I’m most impressed with Poppet’s secret-keeping. Dogs are notoriously loose-lipped. Good job, Poppet!)

So I was at work, and I had this five-minute break, and I saw this and I was all, “what is this?” and then I cried. RIGHT AT WORK. This is just…I can’t even. This is fantastic.

If I’m exceptional, it’s only because I’m trying to live up to your exceptionalness. That’s not a word. I don’t even care. Poets can make up words, if we want to. It’s a thing we can do. It says so on my Poet’s Membership Society card. What, you other poets don’t have one? Huh. Guess I’m just special, then.